


Renovo Virgo

by charlotteschaos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, BDSM, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Heroes to Villains, Love/Hate, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Quidditch Pitch: Going Under
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-26
Updated: 2007-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-27 10:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10806936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotteschaos/pseuds/charlotteschaos
Summary: Bellatrix/James: They never should have let such a pure young man into this house. Blacks aren't ever as earnest and tender as this.





	Renovo Virgo

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written while pondering James Potter's first sexual encounter for biscuitarsed and tweaked for the erotic_elves Sex Magic challenge. Much of this was inspired by a conversation with spifftastic. Also, please mind the warning for non-con.  


* * *

The boys are at play in Sirius's bedroom. The pillows strike with soft thumps against nubile flesh and high-pitched laughter that lowers to manlier tones. Sirius and James fight head on while Regulus hides under the bed, grabbing for feet until the boys drag him out to tickle him bent over the bed, all boyish enthusiasm and glee.  
  
James Potter brings the taste of innocence to Grimmauld Place -- a taste that has no right in a Black household. He is too proud, too well-muscled, too finely lined with a soft down of manly hair; his pants pull too tightly around a prick too large to be contained by such frivolous fabric.  
  
Bellatrix steps away from the door, blinking her long lashes to recover her sight from the narrow aperture of the door lock. What she does not forget is the gentle tease of innocence, the smell wafting through the door, nor has she forgotten the wanton look on cousin Sirius's face -- the look of longing, of wanting. She laughs melodiously as she steps down the stairs to the kitchen to prepare a tea.  
  
"I'd no idea that our little Sirius was such a size queen. He might well regret that when he realizes what it is for," Bellatrix purrs to no one in particular.  
  
Kreacher lurches away as she chooses her herbs with care: chamomile and black camellia sinensis, a bit of licorice and catnip, and just a bare hint of belladonna. Perfect.  
  
The noise and lights have died down. The streets outside are slick, reflecting the streetlights outside of Grimmauld. Bellatrix sips her tea calmly, just a hint of a smile on her face. What would dear Rodolphus say? Not even married and yet plotting debauchery. He will have to get used to it. It is her way.  
  
When Bella peers through the door again, it is as she's expected. She leans in enough so that the door creaks, and like a frightened deer, Potter's head lifts from his pillow, alert, wary, but fuzzy-eyed without his glasses.  
  
The portrait of Phineas Nigellus snickers, breaking the silence.  
  
"Miss Black?" asks Potter in the hushed tones of young men. That is what he is -- a young man on holiday, spending Christmas with his best mate. They never should have let such a pure young man into this house. Blacks aren't ever as earnest and tender as this.  
  
His glasses are on, and his head tilts.  
  
Sirius pretends to sleep.  
  
"Come," she says, curling her fingers in entreaty, bidding him with blood-colored nails, dripping with sweetness and promise.  
  
Potter looks to Sirius; Regulus is in his own room. No one is there to give him a reason not to, so he follows her down the stairs to the basement kitchen. She serves him tea spiked with belladonna, and they talk of his life and what he wants. She wonders if he has a girlfriend. He does not. She admits to her engagement. He looks at her modest ring, but he's getting tired.  
  
So late, it is so late, and he's so very sleepy. He reminds her several times of the hour and that Sirius is waiting. Potter lurches forward, asleep on his feet. She captures him in her arms. Flush against her body, she realizes he is not the slight boy he once was. He is in full bloom of manhood, her height if not taller, but so very tired.  
  
She drags him up the stairs, pinching him to wake him enough to take another few steps. The progress is slow this way, his body heavy, prick hard under her fingers when she cannot resist the urge to feel him.  
  
As they pass the boys' room to get to hers, eyes follow them through the open doorway. The soft noise of padding feet tell her that her cousin is giving chase. Sirius hangs back as she lays Potter across her bed.  
  
Potter stares up at her, his pupils so dilated that his eyes look black. He blinks a lot, as if what is happening to him could be nothing more than a dream.  
  
Bellatrix pulls his sleep shirt up enough to expose his prick and the fuzz that leads down to it, curls shining under the vague moonlight from the window behind the bed. She pushes her white dressing gown back, revealing her rouged nipples, her curves, the slight lump at her belly that corsetry nips in to perfection.  
  
His face still carries a fair bit of puppy fat; his lips are red from his biting them. She climbs atop him, straddling his body to let the straightness of his prick slide through her folds. She teases herself with it. It is large compared to any others that she's seen �" not that there have been too many. Either way, it is too large to be wasted on the Mudblood he's rumored to fancy or to bugger the arse of her wishful cousin. This is for her, for now, because she is a Black, and Potter must be punished for being this pure in her presence.  
  
Rocking up on her knees, she balances over it. Her mother would be proud of her: back straight with just a slight arch to entice. Potter reaches for her nipples, and they're hard, flesh prickling with the anticipation of sensation, but his arm drops when she lets him begin to slide into her.  
  
Potter's hands cross over his face as if he is ashamed of his corruption. Bellatrix smiles, and he hisses, body already knowing the dance; he rocks up into her even as he tries not to participate. It stings when he enters her, stings when he breaks her, stings when he slaps into her with little grace, bony knees rocking into her arse with his feet braced against the bed. It's giving her a headache now, making her dizzy until she sees the angst on her cousin's face reflecting in her favorite mirror.  
  
At that sight, her hands come up to cover her breasts, covering them as she pinches her nipples. She clenches hard around Potter until he bucks into her with a few particularly savage thrusts. She cries out along with him, but she doesn't mean it. She doesn't come until rocks against Potter a few more times, until she turns her head to see the wateriness of Sirius's eyes and the bitterness of his expression.  
  
Bellatrix rolls off of James after he claims to feel ill. She smirks, flashing Sirius a challenging look.  
  
 _What are you going to do about it?_ it says. _You shouldn't have brought him here. You should have known better_.  
  
"C'mon, Jamie," Sirius says as he crosses the room to peel him out of the bed.  
  
Belladonna virgin. He'll probably be sick all night.  
  
Sirius scowls at her as he drags James stumbling to the loo. She almost laughs at James's dry heaves. But oh, it is so sweet and Sirius cares so much. She shuts the door to the guest room to tune out the wreckage of what she's done.  
  
Standing before her favorite mirror, she brings one leg up on her chair and stares down at the wetness, blood and seed working a slimy trail down her thigh. With a quick spell, she cleans it up, the spell like a pleasant brush of air over the curls guarding her cunt. Then she speaks another spell, much older, passed down from mother to daughter for generations of Blacks.  
  
" _Renovo Virgo_."  
  
Rodolphus won't have her first, but he will never know.  
  
She smiles; smoothes back her hair, and prepares for bed.


End file.
